Dexter's Deeds
by Deus X Machina
Summary: Dexter A collection of one shots on some of Dexter Morgan's moonlit playdates.


**Dexter's Deeds**

**Gary Hunt**

"Citizens are outraged upon the release of Gary Hunt, who some have called 'the most hated man in Florida.' Five years ago, Mr. Hunt soaked his son and daughter in gasoline and set them on fire, killing his daughter and permanently disfiguring his son. Mr. Hunt claimed to be under the influence of drugs at the time. He will remain on probation and will continue to attend drug rehabilitation courses…"

I woke up to the sound of my clock radio giving me this information. Of course, I already knew. In fact, I'd been looking forward to this day for a long time. Hell, I even had it marked on my PDA. From the moment this case appeared five years ago, I knew that I wanted to kill Hunt myself.

I followed the case obsessively, my Dark Passenger growling every time Hunt's gaunt face appeared on screen. Most of all I remembered the testimony of his young son which would have broken my heart if I had one. Little Andrew Hunt sat on the stand, his charred skin dark, rough, and cracked like rotten wood. He couldn't speak (no tongue) or sign (too few fingers) so they brought him a keyboard to type on. The words "why did you do it daddy" appeared on the big screen over and over.

Throwing on a shirt, I pulled open my desk drawer and took out a green folder labeled "Hunt." Inside were various files and articles pertaining to the case. At the top were two pictures I'd printed out. One was of Andrew on the stand. I eyed his disfigured face, unconsciously clenching my teeth. I pulled out the second picture. This one showed a pretty young blonde girl in a ballerina costume at her birthday party, a file photo of Gary's daughter Crystal, given to the police by Gary's ex-wife.

"Children," I whispered to myself, staring at the two photos. The life Gary had taken and the life he'd ruined. I had to shake myself from my reverie. Glancing at the clock, I realized how much time I'd lost. Damn you, Distracted Dexter. Time for work.

**XXXXX**

After work, I drove to my weekly Narcotics Anonymous meeting. I sat down in one of the folding chairs as the group leader took the podium.

"Hey, everyone," he said. "Today we have a new guest. I hope you'll all make him feel welcome. Gary?"

I fought to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor when Gary Hunt took the stage.

Gary, his voice calm and level, gave the customary opening. "My name's Gary and I'm an addict."

Everyone recognized him. No one answered him except for my Passenger. He whispered "Opportunity" in my ear. Immediately, a plan began forming in my head.

Undeterred, Gary continued. "I've been sober for about a year now…"

The Hell you have. I listened to Gary's speech. It was dull and flat, without the sadness, regret, or uncertainty most new members of NA have in their voice. He might as well have been reading off a script. He spoke the way I would have spoken if I hadn't gotten so good at acting human.

Gary was dark, empty. Like me. The only difference was that, even when in a room full of people who knew of his crimes, he didn't bother to hide it. Gary didn't care. And people who don't care don't change. Ever.

Just look at me.

In the middle of Gary's speech, I got up and stepped outside. No one stopped me, of course. I'm just another guy with a bladder that needs emptying, thank you.

I had easily gotten loads of information on Gary Hunt, including the license plate number of his car and the address he was staying at. I stepped out into the cool night air and easily located Hunt's car. Pulling out the small pocket knife I carried with me, I punctured all four of his tires and scratched a line in the paint across two doors just for good measure. Carefully wiping the traces of paint and rubber off the blade, I put my knife away and went back inside.

By then, Gary had finished his speech. He stepped down from the stage. He got no pats on the back or encouraging words from his fellow NA members. The meeting was adjourned and we all got up, exchanging handshakes and hugs. I said goodbye to Lila as we joined the exodus to the parking lot. Just as I unlocked my car door, Gary apparently saw what I'd done to his car and let out an unnecessarily loud "What the fuck?" He'd be delayed for quite a while. More than enough time for me to snoop around in his apartment.

Gary Hunt infested a small one bed, one bath room in a run-down tower in a less-than-friendly area of town. I picked the lock, pulled open the door, and was greeted by a whiff of strong smelling musk and body odor from a room whose windows were apparently never opened. I went straight into his bedroom, knowing just what I was looking for.

My time at NA had given me a certain compassion…

Well, "compassion" isn't the right word for me, of course. Let's say "understanding." My time at NA had given me a certain understanding for drug addicts. I'd gained an appreciation for the addicting power of drugs. I doubt Harry would approve if I killed someone who was truly reformed. If Gary was as repentant as he said he was, I wouldn't find anything worse than Coca Cola in his apartment.

But I knew I'd find something. People like Gary Hunt don't change. According to his file, his psych evaluation was perfect, which was what made my Passenger squirm. If one of my friends from NA immolated a kid while under the influence, I'd expect them to be scarred for life. Normal people don't incinerate kids and walk away unscathed.

The logical conclusion: Gary was not a normal person.

Sure enough, I pulled open his nightstand and found a little plastic bag of white powder along with several syringes. The child-killing bastard.

**XXXXX**

I lingered a bit after the next week's NA meeting, waiting for everyone else to leave. No witnesses. Soon Gary and I were the only ones left in the parking lot. It was late. No one would be around.

Gary stood on the curb, waiting for a cab. Mustering up my best casually friendly tone, I called out to him, "Hey Gary. Need a ride?"

Gary turned towards me as if startled. He was surprised that someone from NA was actually speaking to him. "Yeah, sure. Thanks. Dexter, right?"

"Yeah." I led him to my car.

"I really appreciate this, Dexter," said Gary. "Last week some punk slashed my tires and I still don't have enough money for new ones. Fuckin' cabs take forever and it's real cold tonight."

"If you need a ride back next week, I'd be happy to help you out." Dutiful Dexter to the rescue. I climbed into the driver's seat. Gary slid into the seat next to me.

"Thanks, man. I live on…"

"Homolka Avenue," I interrupted him.

"Yeah, I…wait! How did you…"

His question was cut off as I stuck the needle in his neck.

**XXXXX**

I have a great love of poetic justice. So the abandoned gas station I found was the perfect place to go to work on someone who set his kids on fire. Its checkout counter was the perfect place to tie Gary down and its boarded-up windows lent us some privacy.

With a tired groan, Gary stirred awake. Still somewhat disoriented, he began struggling against the tape and plastic that held him down.

"Mmph! Muhmmm…" he said. To facilitate communication, I ripped off the duct tape that covered his mouth.

"What is this?" Gary gasped out.

"Justice."

"What have I done?" My meat cleaver chopped into the table right beside his head immediately after the question.

"Don't play dumb." I motioned to the pictures of his two children taped onto the wall. His eyes became satisfyingly wide.

"Dexter, please. I'm going to the meetings. I've reformed. Honest!"

"Is that why I found this in your apartment?" I jiggled the bag of heroin over his face. "Sober for a year my ass."

Gary, rendered speechless, started hyperventilating. The sound annoyed me, so I stuck the tape back over his face.

Taking a scalpel, I made a small cut on his cheek. Gary shut his eyes tight as I took a bit of blood from the cut in a pipette and dropped it onto a glass microscope slide.

"You know, I'm somewhat tempted to do to you what you did to your kids," I said as I picked up a barbecue lighter and pulled the trigger. A wisp of flame appeared at the tip, the lone source of light in the dark gas station. I held the flame over Gary's face, waving it back and forth slowly. I heard more screams muffled by the duct tape.

"And if I weren't more careful, I would," I said. "So I'll use this sparingly." I lowered the flame over his right eyeball. His screams got as loud as they could through his sealed lips and his eyebrow fizzled in orange sparks. His eyeball burned into a useless, milky-white tumor. I could smell the burned flesh in the air. Carefully, I gave his left eye the same treatment.

I looked down on my now blind victim. Setting aside my lighter, I picked up my battery powered hand saw. Pulling the trigger, the motor hummed to life in my hand as I lowered the blade onto Gary's neck.

"Mgh! Nmmmmmghh!" Gary struggled helplessly against the saw blade, his blood flowing out onto the plastic-covered counter.

"Just shut up and bleed."


End file.
